The Ava Chronicles
by SparkleMouse
Summary: A series of unrelated tales about Beckett, Castle and their daughter Ava (who began her journey in auld lang syne, although you don't have to read that to read this.)
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: So, this happened. I didn't actually intend to write Ava again and then after an outing yesterday at Alice's Tea Cup on the Upper West Side I found that I had no choice. This will be an open ended story; little tales of the life of Ava that do not connect, but will be written when I feel the need to obsess over a Beckett/Castle child.

Nancy, thank you for taking me here although I feel this was somewhat your plan all along and thank you to both you and Heather for forcing me to post this (I hate you both) as well as Laura whose flail emails always make me happy and encourage me. Also thanks to everyone who supported and loved Ava to begin with!

Please look up Alice's Tea Party in Manhattan, chapter 1 (location wise) to see the restaurant. It's awesome!

* * *

Chapter 1: A Mad Tea-Party

"Oh, Daddy, look!" Castle glances up to where his daughter is pointing, noticing the brightly colored fairy wings tacked onto a door. Ava is mesmerized by them, the swirls of sparkles in different colors, the soft feathers that rest in the middle. She kneels on the large chair in the waiting area, her tutu splaying out around her, and her tiny fingers reach out, her mouth parted in an 'o' as she touches it. "So pretty. Can I wear one? Please?"

"Which color?" He stands, unfastening a pair of blue wings. "How's this one?"

She shakes her head, tendrils of dark hair spilling from the bun on top of her head. She's just come from dance practice, and she's dressed like a ballerina, all pink leotard and tulle skirt; she's the spitting image of her mother on those lazy - and too few and far between - days where Kate wants nothing but to lay around with her hair up, casual clothes on. He smiles at her, and reaches for the band in her hair, unraveling it before she spends the rest of the afternoon blowing her bangs out of her face.

"No, the purple. Mommy is coming and she'll wanna see it cause that's her favorite!" Light filters into Ava's eyes and he knows she's formulating an idea, conceiving a plot as his wife calls it. It's apparently the same look he gets when a novel starts to come together in his brain. "Daddy, how about I wear the blue and you can wear the purple!"

"You want me to wear wings? I'm not so sure they'd fit, AJ."

Yeah. They definitely will not fit. Not unless he loses about-

"No, they will! I know it." She takes them from him, tapping his back. "Turn around."

"Turn around what?"

"Please! Turn around please, Daddy."

He does and in the mirror in front of him he can see the sheer determination on her face, the way she bites down on her lip as she concentrates. He should tell her to stop - surely the elastic is going to snap - but she looks so excited that he can't bear to do it. He'll buy the restaurant new ones if need be, but he can't resist that look on her face. To Ava's credit, she has one band pulled up over his arm, and she's working on the other one and the harder she tries the more excited she gets and he really wishes Kate would get here already so she can see this.

"Done!" Her nose twitches and she lifts her shoulders in a small shrug. "Your arms are too big. It doesn't look okay, but you should still wear them until Mommy comes cause she'll like it. I can wear the purple ones now!"

Castle looks in the mirror and laughs because _doesn't look okay_ is an understatement to say the least. The wings are dwarfed on his back but his daughter is happy and has so much pride that he kisses her forehead, reaching for the pair of purple ones. She settles on his lap and he places them over her, the perfect addition to her costume.

"You look like Tinkerbell."

She twists her body, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Mommy says you're like Peter Pan! That means we are best friends right?"

Of course Kate thinks he's like Peter Pan; she's yelled it at him during arguments when his childishness was an issue, loved him for it on those nights after hard cases when all she wanted was to forget. But he'll never remember those reasons now, just the flecks of green and gold in his youngest daughter's eyes, the excitement she has at the prospect of them being the closest of friends. It reminds him of Alexis when she was growing up and how she's in Europe now, living a life on her own and no longer his baby.

"Yeah, AJ," he murmurs, squeezing her gently. "That's what it means."

* * *

"And what does the first bottle say?" Castle asks, buttering a scone for Ava.

There's a tower of pastries and sandwiches in front of them, as well as tiny cups of tea, and he can't believe he never knew about this place until recently. The walls have passages of Alice in Wonderland scrawled across them, paintings of the table with the key and the bottle that Alice drinks from. It's quaint and quiet, and the book sits in front of his daughter as she turns the pages back and forth, working more from memory than the novel in front of her. He and Kate have been reading it to her for a couple of years now – one of Kate's favorites – and their daughter has his brain; can memorize things after hearing them once or twice, loves to learn and ask questions and breathe in the words like they're a lifeline.

He hands over the pumpkin scone and she rips into it, hands now a mess with butter and jelly. "Drink me! And then the second says eat me and she grows so big and tall and Alice can't fit through the door anymore!" She chews on the pastry, looking at the pictures, eyes wide. "I don't like that she gets so sad, though, Daddy."

Castle leans back against the booth, cutting off the crusts off his ham and cheese sandwich. He places half of it on Ava's plate, careful to leave enough space between the different foods. (_Daddy, foods can't touch cause they taste funny!) _"Do you know who else gets sad when she's away from home?"

"Dorothy, but I don't like that one cause it's scary. The witch is so mean to her!" She licks the jam off her finger before turning the page and Castle winces at the stains she leaves; looks like they're about to own another copy of the book. "What happens after Alice is sad? I don't 'member."

"She sees the mouse-"

Her eyes light up and she nearly bounces in her chair. Her hair falls down her back in waves and he should have pulled it back before it becomes filled with raspberry jelly or the ends soaked in the tea she keeps leaning down to blow on. "Oh yes and she tries to talk to him in French. What does she say?"

"Ou est ma chatte?" Castle startles at the sound of Kate's voice, the smooth cadence of the foreign words slipping off her tongue like silk. He looks up and she's at the end of the table, already peeling off her leather coat, gorgeous and smiling. She bends down to kiss their daughter hello, stained fingers now around her neck, but he's come to realize that Kate Beckett has never minded a mess when it comes to their child. She kisses her and Kate grins, licking her lips. "Mmm, tastes good."

Not that it's ever news to him, but he really _really_ loves his wife.

Kate sits down next to him, squeezes his thigh with a smile. "Hey."

"Hey."

"What does that mean, Mommy? I forgot."

"Where is my cat?"

"Like the treasure cat!"

Kate laughs. "Cheshire cat." She looks away from their daughter, her eyebrow lifting at the thing on his back that nearly snaps every time he moves. Her eyes sparkle, and work must be light today because she seems happy, carefree, not at all stressed like she has been for the past few days. "Nice wings, Castle. It looks good on you."

"I know, right?"

"We're having a tea party like Alice did!" Ava exclaims, never one to have the attention off of her for long, especially with her parents. She takes another bite of her scone, drinks her tea before she's done swallowing. He's warned her about it before, but he sees the slight shake of Kate's head. He gets the message loud and clear. _She's fine. Let me relish in this for a little while._

"I can see that." Kate reaches for the kettle, pouring some into the tea cup. "How much food did you guys order?"

"Daddy got the – the what's it called?"

"Jabberwocky."

Ava giggles. "That's a funny word. We got lots cause then you can bring some to Uncle Kevin and Uncle Javi and also to Cap! That's nice, right mommy?"

"Very nice, Ave. Thank you. I'm sure they'll love it."

Castle leans into her, feels the heat pressed against him. He can smell the lingering scent of perfume, reminds him of mornings when he wakes up and she's already gone. It makes him ache with the longing of not working with her every day, but it's good like this, it is. She meets them for lunches when she can and Ava's not in school, and he brings her to the precinct to see Kate and the boys when it's not too hectic. "How long do you have?"

"About an hour."

"Mommy, you know what we passed on our way here?"

"What did you pass? How was dance?"

"It was fun, I stood on my tip toes to do a – a dance move but I forgot what it's called. But that's not my story!" Castle can't help the laugh that rumbles through his throat, the enthusiastic way in which his child delivers a tale.

"I'm sorry, baby. What did you pass?"

"Nikki Heat's police station! You work at the 12th but she's at the 20th, and it's right around the corner! I didn't know it was real cause Nikki isn't but it's so cool! It looks different than yours, but oh, on the street there's this poster! It has a uni – a unicorn on it!"

Kate looks at him, and she's smiling, amused. "That poster is still there?"

They had found the first one when he had taken her to the 20th for the first time what seems like a million years ago, showed her the lay of her fictional counterpart's land. It had been taped to a nearby brownstone's doorway and he had snuck up the stairs, snapped a picture because it was out of place and hilarious and something that he wanted to use one day. (_Nikki Heat and the Tale of the Unicorn!_, he had suggested. With an eye roll, she had started to walk away, but he heard it out of her mouth seconds later, the smirk resting there like she was the keeper of all the secrets in the world. _Nikki Heat vs. The Long, One Horned Creature. _It was an entire walk around the city with silly names, and even sillier stories.)

"Different one. It's in another language now."

She nearly snorts in response. "In case the person who found it was foreign?"

"Beckett, it's a unicorn! Maybe the _unicorn_ doesn't speak English!"

She squeezes his leg again and she _probably_ should stop doing that in front of their daughter and this adorable little tea shop. "You're ridiculous."

"He is, Mommy. Daddy is so _ridiculous._"

Castle gasps. "Hey!"

"Ave, do you know what that means?" Kate asks, taking a sip of tea.

"It means laughingable!"

Okay, he thought she was just repeating Kate, but she actually _knows _it and his daughter is smart, but he never taught her that. "Laughable. AJ, how did you know that?"

"Patty told me. He said it was _ridiculous_ that Mommy let you win at poker." She scrunches her little nose and he doesn't know if it's something she's picked up from Kate or if it's somehow genetic. "But I forgot why that's laughable."

He's going to kill Patterson (and thank him for teaching his daughter new words.) "You _let_ me win?" he asks Kate.

She doesn't pretend, just smiles and it's so much better. "I knew I always liked James and I don't _always_ let you win. Sometimes."

"You are a wily woman, Detective."

She kisses his cheek, lips lingering seconds too long. "Just keeping you on your toes, Castle."

"Mean."

"Daddy, are you gonna cry and be sad like Alice?" Ava looks around, peeking under the table. "Do you think they have mice here?"

Castle groans. "Let's hope not. Mice are good in stories, not in restaurants. AJ, there's this one time when Mommy and I were working and a mouse crawled on Mom's shoulder. And you know what she did?"

"Talked to it in French?"

Kate laughs. "I should have thought of that. I just threw it off of me. Daddy was more scared than I was." She gives him a look, remembers the years of haunted houses and too many cases, adventures and nine lives. He still hasn't told Ava the story about the tiger, but one day when she's older. Maybe he can use it when she's older and dating, tell the boys that he wrestled a tiger with his bare hands-

"Can I tell you more about Alice now?"

Castle nods while Kate answers with "of course", holding up the pot. "Want more tea, Ave?"

"Yes! Okay, so after the mouse-"

Kate leans into him, her words merely a breath in his ear. "And down the rabbit hole we go."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Thanks again to everyone who has supported this little nugget. I've become attached to her so it's nice that others have as well. And just a reminder she's never a specific age. In this one she's older than the first, in the third she'll be younger than the first two. It's more whatever mood strikes! Enjoy and I'd love to know what you think!

Also thank you so much to sometimesitseasiertolie for the gorgeous cover art!

* * *

Chapter 2: There Are Places I Remember

The dry earth crunches beneath their feet; broken branches and remnants of snow, dead flowers that have wilted and fallen off of graves. She weaves through a familiar path, stones she's come to memorize over the years.

_Miranda King, born 1909, Died 2009._Passed away one day before her hundredth birthday._Loving wife and mother. Joseph Keene. Born 1951. Died 1998._One year before her own mother.

Ava is beside her, quiet and pensive, and it's the first year she really gets it. She's been coming with Kate for years now, a somber little girl who knew of heaven what she wanted to believe. White clouds and a million flavors of ice cream, happiness and horses, a writer's version that she'd made up with Castle while Kate listened in with a wistful smile. Ava's still too young to know the details of how, of deserted alleyways and prominent men with too much power, but she had crawled into their bed that morning, her voice nothing but a whisper as she curled around Kate. _Happy Birthday, Grandma._

They stop in front of Johanna's grave and Ava places a bouquet irises on the top. The tints of blue and purple shine brighter in the mid morning sun, and it's warm today, warmer than it's been, the snow soon to be a memory. Her daughter takes her hand and she's grateful for this, so much more grateful than she ever could have believed.

"What's that mean?" Ava asks, and while on most occasions she's loud and vibrant and so much her father's daughter, she also has the softness and sense of compassion Kate fell in love with ages ago. "Vincit Omnia Veritas." She falters on the pronunciation, a roll of her tongue she hasn't quite gotten down.

"Truth conquers all. Your grandmother was a believer in the truth. It was one of her favorite sayings." Ava nods, but she knows that look. Her daughter loves to learn, but she doesn't like not understanding. She's this strange mix of both Castle and herself, needing to be right, not wanting to give in to defeat, but wanting to be better, more aware. "You know you can ask me anything, Ave. What do you want to know?"

Ava shivers, burrowing in closer to Kate. Her long hair is down, billowing around her face, and she pushes it out of the way before lifting her eyes. She looks exactly like Kate did as a child, long lashes and lithe frame, and Kate feels the longing deep within her. It never goes away even though it lies dormant most of the time and she bites her lip because her mother would have loved this girl, would have done anything for her.

"How do you believe in the truth? I mean, you believe in people. But the truth is the truth. Like it's just, you know, there."

She doesn't know how to explain that it's so much more complex than that, that there are layers to honesty, that people lie to save themselves all the time. She brushes her hand through Ava's hair, nodding. "She believed that there was good in everyone. Even if someone had done something bad, she thought she could find out the reason why. She thought that everything had a reason to it."

"But like you're a cop and you arrest bad people. So do you think there's good in everyone? Even the ones who hurt people and you put them in jail?"

_No. If I did, we wouldn't be standing here. If I did, you might not be there._

"I think the world is a really big place and it's not up to us to understand all of it."

Her daughter accepts his as an answer, nodding her head in silence. It rests between them, this moment of mourning. The sun is starting to lower, the winds becoming fiercer and she wishes Castle was here with them instead of stuck in meetings. He'd know what to say in this moment, know how to make the mood lighter without making a joke of it, would calm them both like only he knows how.

It's not only her mother, but the memories of cemeteries; shots fired and love declared, bullet scars that have faded but never disappeared. She touches her chest where her mother's ring is under her collar, fingers brushing over the wound, and then Ava is looking at her, squeezing her hand harder.

"I don't want you to die when I'm young."

Oh God. She wasn't expecting that, the raw quiet emotion in her daughter's voice, the response at all. Kate wraps her in her arms, kissing her head, and she's not going to breakdown, she's not. She can do it later with Castle if she still needs to, but she won't let her daughter believe -

even if it's possible, even if _anything_ is possible, she won't let her daughter think about this, not now.

She pulls back and kneels in front of her daughter, jeans dirty with the ground, and tames the girl's hair with her hands so she's staring at Ava. "You are stuck me, Ava. You're stuck with me and Dad and Gram and Grandpa and Alexis and Scott. Baby, I'm not going anywhere."

It's a promise she can't make, _shouldn't_ make, but she does for the sake of her child, for the smile that blossoms on Ava's lips in return.

"Do you think Grandma would have liked Dad?"

"Is there anyone who doesn't like your dad?"

"He's pretty cool. I mean, he's kinda the worst driver in the entire world and he sings really off key sometimes when we're playing music, but he is fun."

"He's the worst driver in the world?"

"Oh my God, Mom, he hits the brakes all the time. You weren't with us when we drove to the Hamptons at Christmas for that book party thing but he totally like made me wanna throw up. He wouldn't win any awards for driving."

Kate laughs and Ava does have that magic her father does where she can make even the saddest times somehow bearable. "I think your grandmother would have loved your dad. She used to read his books."

"Really? But she didn't know him?"

"No. I didn't meet your dad until years later. But grandma read his books before I did. She thought he was talented and really good at what he did. She's the one who told me to read his stuff."

"That's so cool. I bet she would have thought it was awesome you married him."

"You're right, I bet she would think that."

She can feel another shiver slice down Ava's spine and they should go. Castle will be home soon with the promise of ordering in dinner; glasses of wine and a warm fire, movie night in his office. She lets go of her daughter and takes a step closer, wiping the remains of snow off the stone. Her fingers brush over her maiden name, the one her husband still calls her on more occasions than not, and she takes in the cold air, letting it bruise her lungs in remembrance.

She misses her mother, but she can't regret the roads she's taken to get here: to her daughter, to Castle, to a life she never could have imagined, even before her mother had died. She presses her hand to the name one last time before reaching for Ava's hand.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, it's cold." Ava kisses her hand before pressing it onto Johanna's name. "I love you, Grandma." They begin to walk away, hands swinging. "Do you think they have birthday parties in heaven?"

"What do you think?"

"I bet they do. Grandpa always tells me that Grandma loved ice cream cake even though her birthday was in winter. So I bet that there are all these balloons and she gets ice cream cake and it's warm up there cause there are no seasons, it's just like really nice weather-"

"But what if you love snow?"

"Oh." Ava thinks about it for a second, opening the car door. "Like maybe there sections? If you love the cold you have the cold area and if you love the warm you go over there. So I bet that Grandma is really loving her ice cream cake and even if she did love the cold, in heaven it doesn't really matter because everything is sort of all perfect you know?"

She wishes. She _hopes._

"What else is Grandma doing today?"

Her daughter weaves up another story off the top of her head, excitement and fantasies that somehow make it seem magical and _okay._ She turns on the car, letting the heat filter in. Her phone beeps and she grabs it, an incoming text from Castle.

_You okay?_

She types back quickly, still listening to Ava's every word. _I've never been so happy to have a mini you. You both help make it okay. See you soon. Love you._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Goodnight Moon

Kate walks into the loft, her heart stopping when she hears the wailing cries of her daughter. She drops her bag onto the floor near the entrance, closing her eyes as the door snaps shut. She had been getting text messages from Castle all day: _AJ's fever's at 101; I hate how miserable she is. Couldn't even get her to stop crying during Toy Story; I made an appointment for the doctor tomorrow. _He had been keeping her apprised of it all but each text gnawed at her throughout the day, made her wish she was home instead of in the car on the way to the morgue, or in interrogation, or looking for leads in places that seemed barren with information.

Castle's voice wafts through the living room, quiet murmurs she can't quite understand. She walks into the kitchen and places the bag of Ava's favorite soup on the counter before tossing her jacket over the arm of the couch and making her way into the bedroom. Castle's lying on top of the mattress, their daughter curled around him under the covers, face red marked and eyes burning with tears. She looks desperate and pale, a tiny little thing who wants nothing more than to be put out of her misery. There's a trash can on the side of the bed and Castle hadn't mentioned that she'd been throwing up in his many text messages but maybe he didn't want her panicking, coming home when he knew she had to work, when -

"Mommy," Ava whimpers, and Kate slides onto the bed beside her daughter. She gives Castle a small smile - sad, wistful - and he gives her one in return, his hand continuing their trek through Ava's hair.

"Hi baby," Kate whispers, pressing her lips to the girl's forehead. Her skin is hot to the touch, and Kate's heart clenches, worry rushing through her veins. It's just the flu, her baby will be fine in a couple of days, but it's an ache that slides into her bones and settles; one that'll remain until the fever has broken and her daughter is back to her normal, energetic self. "You're not feeling well, huh?"

Ava tries to shake her head, but instead cries out - headache possibly - and burrows deeper into Castle's embrace. Her cries are muffled now, lost somewhere against the fabric of her father's shirt and Kate looks up at him; he's worn out, the lines around his eyes pronounced, and she reaches for him, runs her hand down his cheek. He closes his eyes, leans into her embrace. There's a flush to him as well and he's quite possibly getting whatever their daughter has which means that she's next in line and that Castle - when confronted with any sort of illness - is an even bigger crybaby than Ava.

"You feel okay?"

He opens one eye, the smile flitting across his lips. "If I say no will you give me a sponge bath?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "In your dreams, Castle." But she's smiling, because she would if he needed her to; because after almost four years of marriage she's settled so deeply into this life with him that it feels natural and right and _everything. _"I brought home soup for Ava, but if you need me to-"

"Kate, I'm fine. Tired, but fine." He bends down and presses his lips to Ava's head. Her cries have softened a bit, but she's still sniffling, still shifting to try to get comfortable. "I was gonna let her sleep in here tonight. Mother's still in Europe visiting Alexis and I don't want AJ upstairs alone."

"If you didn't suggest it, I would have." Kate rests her head on the pillow, her face nearly pressed against Ava's hair. Her daughter is sweaty, heat radiating off of her, and she lifts Ava's shirt, her palm over the curve of her spine. "Ave, come on, baby. Let's get you into a bath. It'll make you feel better."

"I hurt, Mommy."

Kate sits up, lifting Ava up into her lap. Surprisingly, her daughter doesn't protest; she comes to her willingly, wrapping her arms tightly around Kate's neck. "I know you do," Kate soothes, brushing a kiss over the crown of her head. "But I need you to do this for me, okay? I'll come sit with you and we'll make it go real fast and then when it's over Daddy and I will let you sleep in our bed."

"Sleep here?"

"Sleep here," Castle affirms. "You have to be a big girl and listen to Mommy first though." He grabs the bottom of her foot until she turns those dark eyes on him, glassy and vulnerable. "I don't like when I'm sick either but this will make you feel a little better."

Kate snorts, letting out a laugh. "Daddy really hates it when he's sick. He cries too."

"No fun bein' hurty, Daddy."

Her husband is glaring at her in that adorable Castle way that he does; not quite serious but wanting his revenge regardless. She lifts an eyebrow at him and smiles, their entire conversation held in looks and gestures and she knows she'll get some sort of retaliation tonight, tomorrow, whenever he feels like it really. But it helps, lightens the mood a bit when they're both worried about Ava, when nothing can be done except waiting and _this. _

"No fun at all but we'll go see Dr. Parker in the morning."

"For a loddy pop?"

"You can't have it when you're sick but we'll get you one for when you're feeling better. How does that sound?"

She seems to consider this for a moment, exhaling a large breath. "K."

Castle stands, heading toward the bedroom door. "I'll go up and grab her pajamas. Did you wash her robe?"

"If it's not in her closet, it's in the laundry room."

She hoists Ava a little higher and gets off the bed carefully. The floor is cool to the touch and she suddenly remembers what it was like to be sick as a kid, too cold to step out of bed, too sick to do anything but pretend like it was all going to be okay. Her mother would stay with her, the ceiling filled with glow in the dark stars, and she wishes Johanna was here now, wishes someone would tell her what to do in order to make her daughter feel better.

Kate flips on the switch in the bathroom, illuminating the large space in golden light. Her daughter mewls against her neck, lets out a sob. "No."

It takes her a minute to realize that it's too bright and she places Ava onto the counter gently. There are candles on the shelf – the ones she uses for her baths, for late nights when she needs to relax – and lights a couple of them, flipping the switch so the room fills with darkness again. She walks to the tub, the flames guiding her as she turns on the nozzles. The water is more tepid than her daughter likes, but she doesn't want to assault her with the heat, not when her fever hasn't yet broken.

"Ready, baby?" But when she turns her daughter is on the verge of breaking, lip trembling, tears streaking her pale skin. "Ave."

She lets out a cry until she can't stop, until the air is caught in her lungs and Kate feels the panic rising in her, the inability to help and she could really use her mother now, advice on how to handle this and no - she just has to breathe. When she was younger and sick her mom would sit with her. She'd let her cry or let her pretend like she was okay. She'd bring her soup and run a bath like this and – right.

She can do this.

"What if I get in the bath with you, hm?" Kate clears the hair away from Ava's forehead, rubs her fingers over the tears. "Do you wanna sit with me?"

"My tummy." The words are muffled in her gasps, lost in the depth of her cries. "Hurts, Mommy."

"I know, sweetheart."

She undresses Ava quickly, tossing the clothes into a pile on the floor and then hers follow. She lifts the girl from the counter, lowering them into the tub, and leans back against the porcelain. It's a little cooler than she likes but she can already feel the way Ava settles against her, the quieting breaths of the tears that seem to have stopped. She's curled up in her lap, her head in the crook of Kate's elbow. She rubs her hand over Ava's stomach to soothe her, the tiny hand settling over hers and she loves this girl more than anything in the world, more than she ever even thought imaginable.

"Feel good?"

She sees Ava nod as the door to the bathroom opens. Light from the bedroom filters in and surprise flits across Castle's face when he notices her in the tub. It's still too dark, but she sees that look in his eyes, the one that always surprises her even though it shouldn't by now. The same look that he gave her when she was dying in that cemetery what feels like another lifetime ago; the one that burned with tears when she nearly lost him for good because she was too stubborn to see what was right in front of her; it was there on their wedding day, the moment she told him she was pregnant, hours and days and weeks and months after she had given birth to their daughter. It's the look he fills novels about her with, whispers in late night declarations, convinces her with the simplest of touches.

"I got in with her," Kate states, obviously.

"I'm jealous."

She laughs, and it's light, just what she needed. "Keep us company?"

"Nowhere else I'd rather be." Castle sits on the edge of the tub, rolls his pants up so he can sink his feet into the water. "AJ, how about a bedtime story?"

She lifts her head from Kate's arm, the bottoms of her hair dark and wet. "Moon."

Castle gasps. "You're choosing Moon over one of my stories?"

She gives him a small smile, maybe the first in days. "Moon, Daddy."

"Okay, okay, Goodnight Moon it is." Castle clears his throat, the words flowing from memorization, from numerous reads of this book curled up in their girl's rocking chair or their bed, or hours spent on the couch. "In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and the picture of the cow jumping over the moon. And there were three little bears sitting on chairs and -"

"How many kittens, Ave?" Kate asks softly, brushing Ava's hair back with her fingers.

She holds up two fingers and Castle grins, continuing. "Two little kittens and a pair of mittens."

She grabs the washcloth on the edge of the tub, dipping it into the water as she rubs it softly over Ava's skin. Castle's voice, the story he's telling, is melodic, soothing. She always teases him that Ava is without a doubt his, but it's in moments like this - her daughter finally calming because of his words, the way she reaches out for Castle's ankle like she needs to stay anchored, her eyes so intently focused on him - that she sees herself in Ava; not in looks but how they react to him, how sometimes he's their everything.

"Goodnight comb and goodnight brush. Goodnight nobody, goodnight mush."

The cloth stills in her hand and she reaches for him, hand wrapped around his calf. In the semi darkness his eyes meet hers and she smiles. "I love you," she mouths.

Ava is nearly a dead weight in her arms, finally having drifted off. Her breathing is heavier than usual, but she's calm and okay. They can make it through this illness, just like all the other things - both big and small – that they have in the past. He bends down, brushing his lips over Ava's forehead, and then he's breathing his response into Kate's mouth with the softest of whispers. _I love you. Still jealous._

She smiles, her arms banded around their daughter, closing her eyes as she listens to him.

"Goodnight stars, goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Hero Worship

"There are these bones and they live in the - the place where Aunt Lanie works, what's that called again, Daddy?"

Castle places a strand of hair behind Ava's ear and she grunts, pushing his hand out of the way. She's curled up on top of him on one of the leather chairs in his office, her tiny feet dipping into the side of the cushion.

"The morgue."

"Right, the morgue. The bones lives there and at night when Aunt Lanie isn't there, when she's not working in the morgue room, the bones come alive! There are so many, and from all over the body like the feet and the arms and over here." She lifts up her shirt, pointing to her ribs, fingers tracing the indentations on the side of her stomach. "Those are the - they're ribs, right?"

He nods, tickling her until she giggles and squirms, kicking her legs out. She nearly gets him in the face but he's quick, blocking the move, and he knows Kate would say it's his own fault if he did get hurt; something about knowing how extremely ticklish their daughter is and that she thrashes like a fish on dry land and other things that he doesn't always listen to because he loves the sound of Ava's laughter more.

"Let me finish! So the bones, they go together at night when no one is there. They make new people! Then they sneaked out of the morgue and they hunt the streets of New York! They stomp real loud-"

"Wouldn't that get everyone's attention?"

"Daddy, you're ruining my story with truth things, this is _make believe_."

It's ridiculous how much she sounds like him, how the world inside her head is so much more vibrant than the one she's living in. "Sorry, baby. Go ahead."

Ava shifts in his lap, his chin hitting the top of her head. She lifts her legs over the arm, kicking them back and forth, and she's all energy and excitement, near jittery with it. "K, so they are stomping real loud and doing bad things cause they have all these bones but from different people and they don't know who they are. Then Mommy comes and she's a superhero like Wonder Woman and Elektra and she says_ 'Freeze, you're under arrest for walking real loud and for doing bad things!'_ and then she arrests them but when she puts them in jail all the bones fall down and it's just bones and not people! Then Mommy has to clean up bones and she doesn't like that."

Castle laughs. "Does Mommy have a superpower aside from arresting people? Does she wear a cape?"

"A purple one! And duh of course she has a superpower. She kicks them with her heels and they turn to dust and disappear! But sometimes she likes to use her cuffs instead."

Castle nearly chokes, his eyes gravitating towards the red marks covered by the sleeves of his sweatshirt. His daughter is right; Kate does sometimes like to use her cuffs instead. He clears his throat, suddenly grateful that Ava's about to go out with her grandfather so he can have his wife to himself. "What happens next in the story?"

"It continues! The next night the bones come back to life and turn into new people and like, oh, so it's one man's arm and another man's leg and a lady's rib and um, I don't know about the hair cause I don't know what the face looks like, but can it be an animal head, Daddy? Like, oh, oh, you know how Alexis and Scott got a puppy? It can be the dog head but with people body parts. And when Mommy comes along the dog barks, but it can also talk cause it has a person mouth. Mommy is smarter than them and she figures it out and she calls you up and you fight together and um, the bones don't - they don't - the dog person stays like it is cause you and Mommy together defeat them!" She turns over in his arms so she's between him and the cushion, hazel eyes burning with golden light. "Can I write books when I'm older?"

He's so in love with his daughter, all three feet, nine inches of her; creative brain and loving heart.

He hugs her against him, lips grazing the crown of her head. He has flashes of her in five years, ten, twenty. The exact replica of her mother, the fierce devotion to everything that she loves. Alexis grew up in ways he never could have imagined and he sees that in Ava, knows no matter what he envisions she'll be so much more than that, more than even his writer's mind can dream of.

"You can be anything you want to be, AJ. You can save the world like Mommy does or you can write like I do or you can be like Grandpa and Grandma Johanna and become a lawyer and use your words in a different way. Did you know Mom wanted to be a lawyer?"

"No, but I think I just wanna do books. Mommy works too much and you get to stay home and staying home seems like so much fun cause then I can play video games and watch TV and no one has to tell me what to do. Does anyone tell you what to do?"

Well...

"Do you remember Gina?"

"She has nice shoes. Sometimes her shoes are nicer than Mommy's." Ava lifts her head, glancing out the door. "But don't tell Mommy I told you that cause it'll hurt her feelings and I don't wanna do that. Gina tells you what to do?"

_If only his daughter knew._ "If I haven't given her my book when it's due she gets mad and doesn't leave me alone until I finish it."

Ava shrugs, losing interest. She plops her head back down, feet up in the air. She hasn't taken classes in quite a few months but she still arches her feet like a dancer, pointed and rounded and some other things that he paid attention to at the time and now can't recall. "Patty said I can write with him one day and I really wanna cause Patty is my favorite."

"You don't wanna write books with me?"

"No, just Patty."

It hits him quickly, a punch in the gut given to him by his youngest daughter. It's not that he thinks about it a lot; just once in a while when they're on the couch or in Ava's rocking chair, creating stories from scratch, righting all the wrongs. He's often envisioned them at the same table in an unnamed bookstore, pens poised in their hands as fans come up to them. Alexis is smart, driven, but writing was never what she wanted. She's into science and women's rights, things to be proud of but not what he's spent his life doing. The first time AJ concocted a story out of nothing, he felt that clench in his heart, hope and excitement and so much pride.

He wasn't expecting this to be a part of it.

Through the haze of thoughts, he can hear Ava telling him more about the story and he should listen, this shouldn't hurt so damn much because she's young, but he's a bit sensitive when it comes to his kids and -

"Hey, Ave. Grandpa is five minutes away. Go put your shoes on."

Castle snaps back to reality the moment his daughter jumps off of him and he blinks. Kate's standing in the doorway to his office, her hip against the frame.

"You okay?"

No. He's not.

"Ava doesn't want to write books with me when she's older." God, it sounds pathetic the moment it's out of his mouth, childlike and immature, but he can't stop, not when it's a vice around his heart. "She wants to write with _Patty._ I mean, the man has taken my number one spot on the bestseller list more times than I can count but to steal my _daughter." _He crosses his arms, lips turned down in a frown and Kate will never take this shit from him but stupid _stupid_ Patterson with his four million books and his houses in every state and the love and devotion of his daughter.

"Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?" Kate asks, walking over to him. She turns the other chair so it's facing him and sits down. He lifts his eyes to her and she's staring at him, eyebrow raised. Her hair is pulled up, she's wearing little makeup, but she's beautiful and this should be enough.

He shakes his head. "No."

Kate rolls her eyes, but she rests a hand on his thigh. "Castle, she's almost six. Last month she wanted to be a doctor until she cut open her knee and thought blood was disgusting. Before that she wanted to be a ballerina. Today she wants to be a writer and she wants to do it with someone who has not only sold millions but has also taught you a thing or two. You should be happy that she loves James. That he can teach her new words and help her be creative. You should be happy that she loves what _you_ love."

"Still."

He can tell she's getting annoyed by the way her hand tightens over his leg, the almost unnoticeable clench of her teeth. She's dealt with his petulant behavior before and he knows he's pushing it but he wants one minute more of this, one minute more to wish he could be everything to his kid.

"You're acting more like a child than our daughter at the moment. What is this really about?"

And that's what he was waiting for; the question that really matters, the one she asked because she knows him so well.

Castle glances at his desk. There's a framed photo of Ava and Alexis on the night of his oldest daughter's engagement, both his girls unaware that the photo was being taken. Alexis' hands frame her sister's face and they're laughing, some inside joke shared between sisters and as much as he loves the photo it reminds him how old they're getting, that time never stands still, that it's all constant and in motion and never ending. He turns back to Kate and her eyes are widened - not in surprise but because she's waiting, wanting to know.

"She's growing up too fast. When Alexis graduated from college, she moved to London to start her own life. Soon enough, AJ is going to decide to go across the country to school or move to Europe to be with her sister or write books withPatterson and she's not going to need me."

Kate lets out a breath on an exhale, pushing closer to him. Her feet bracket the outside of his legs and she touches his face gently. He leans into her touch, takes in the comfort she's offering. "Castle. Alexis moved to London because you taught her that she can do whatever she wanted in this world. She's not afraid to live because you showed her how to. You know what I see at Ava when I look at her?"

He can't help the smile that crosses his lips. "A pint sized version of you?"

Kate narrows her eyes, but he can see the upturn of her lips, the laughter in her eyes. "I see drive and determination and so much imagination that I'm in awe. I see a little girl that is so loved by everyone in her life that if she ever needed anything there's at least thirty people she can call who would be there in a second. She doesn't know the difference between your writing or James' writing, Castle. She's not choosing his talent over yours. She just knows that you're her father and you're always going to be there and James is someone she has fun with on poker nights or parties. If Ava does decide to write with someone someday then maybe it'll be with you, maybe it'll be with James, maybe it'll be with another person entirely. But she's always going to love and respect you more than anyone else in her life."

He bites his tongue because if he says one more self-deprecating comment Kate is going to kill him. But he's him and it comes out, laced with more humor than he would have thought and that's good because maybe his wife will take it as a joke instead of slapping him upside the head. "Until her husband comes along."

"You mean if you actually let a man within three feet of her? I'm surprised you're not locking her in a bell tower after this."

"Do you think I can get a chastity belt made for when she's a little older?"

"If you do I will tell her to run." She leans forward, presses her mouth to his. He tastes the chocolate on her lips from the brownies he had made with his daughter last night and he wraps his hand around the back of her head pulling her closer. He rests his forehead on hers, his heart easing. "Your daughter worships you, Castle. Both of them."

"I'm the cool dad."

She laughs. "Whatever you say."

The whirlwind that is their daughter rushes back into the room, one arm out of her sweater. She's wearing only one sparkly Ugg, the other in her hand and as she wiggles into the other sleeve, she drops the shoe jumping onto Castle. "Daddy, can we finish our story when I get back from the movies with Grandpa?"

"Sure, honey."

She wraps her arms around him, smacking a kiss to his cheek. "You're the bestest. I love making up stories with you."

There's a knock on the door and Kate stands, brushing her hand over Ava's hair. She's looking at him with those eyes, the ones that state very clearly _I told you so_ and then she's out of the room, opening the door to her father. He can hear their muffled voices as he grabs the shoe, holding it out to Ava. She finishes getting dressed quickly and stands up on his thighs, the bottoms of her shoes on his jeans. She bends down kissing his head like he's done to her so many times before. "Love you, Daddy."

Yeah. He's good. More than.

"Love you too, AJ."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Just the Way You Look Tonight

There are millions of people here.

Okay, maybe not millions, but at least thousands. Crowded into corners, drinking whiskey and champagne and the finest wine flown in from Napa and Argentina. It's a party and a memorial and it's everything her Gram would have loved. There are pictures of Martha throughout the stages of her life: childhood in Florida, a whirlwind of a time in Chicago when Playboy Bunnies were brand new and she was one of them – posed with Hugh Hefner, young and beautiful and full of so much life. Manhattan skylines and a newborn in her arms; on stage at the Tony's and years of cast photos. Weddings, births, graduations and repeat.

Ava stands against the wall, staring at the photos of her grandmother's world, taking in all the people whose lives Martha had touched. The champagne she drinks is bitter and a little gross because when she drinks it's vodka and cranberry or vodka and orange juice or sometimes just vodka, but that's not classy enough today. She had wanted to drink red wine in some sort of honor but the moment it touched her tongue – robust and so incredibly disgusting – she had spit it back into the glass. Her mother had turned from the conversation she was having with someone and raised an eyebrow (she _always_ did that, like with just one look she could somehow make even the toughest of people back down) and Ava had shrugged an apology, grabbing a flute off the waiter's tray.

She should mingle, but she likes watching, loves taking it all in with a writer's mind. Okay, so she's not _exactly_ a writer, at least not like her father, but she spends hours jotting down ideas, taking in conversations of others and maybe she will be one in three years when she makes it to college or seven years when she graduates or maybe she'll beat Richard Castle's record and become published at seventeen instead of nineteen.

The champagne is starting to taste better. She'll have to _borrow_ a bottle from her dad's bar the next time they're there for dinner or from the liquor cabinet at home and share it with her best friends and pray to God or whoever that her mom doesn't arrest them for underage partying like she almost did that one time last month when they _accidentally _threw a party because Addison's parents were out of town. Her mom had mumbled something about her being her father's daughter and it had made Ava smile because yeah, she looks exactly like Kate Beckett with her dark, wavy long hair and tall, thin frame, but she embodies everything her father is, everything he stands for and it makes her proud.

She finds him across the room now, engaged in a conversation, and he's laughing but she knows how sad he is, that throwing a party days after his mother died isn't what he wants to be doing. His hand is in her mother's and it's them she likes to watch the most. Not in a gross way, because sometimes they _are_, but because she's fascinated by the novels her father has written, the love story that seems fictionalized and so hard to measure up to. She read the first Nikki Heat book a year ago, devoured it word for word almost like this wasn't her mother's story, her father's words, the start of a life and a family and really if she thinks about it, _her._ They're her parents and they're awesome and annoying and sometimes she wants to kill them and sometimes she's so _so_ grateful for both of them but she's not sure she'll ever know _them._ She learned from those books things about her mom that she never understood; she realized her dad would have sacrificed his life to save his partner's, that if words had the power to change an outcome he would have without second thought.

"Your grandmother would have loved this."

Ava startles at the deep voice beside her. There's a man next to her now, tall and he's gotta be at least in his eighties but there's something strong about him, like age hasn't yet touched him. It reminds her of her grandmother and she can't help the smile that crosses her lips. There's something familiar about him, about the lines around his mouth and the way he carries himself – strong and with a lifetime of secrets in the depths of his eyes.

She feels that clench in her heart, the one that's been there since the moment she found out Gram had died. There's happiness here and she's _trying_ to be happy because she can hear that voice in her head, the one that used to read her bedtime stories and acted out scenes from Hamlet and A Long Day's Journey into Night.  The one that says, _Buck up, kiddo. Life is something we celebrate, not mourn._

"I think she would have preferred some sort of catfight or someone being pushed into the pool outside. Something dramatic, you know?"

The man laughs and it sounds like –

Oh.

Ava lifts her head to look at him. Her hair falls into her eyes and she pushes it aside, watching him for a moment. "Does Dad know you're here?"

He seems startled and then not at all surprised. His smile is warm and she suddenly wishes she knew him like she does Grandpa Jim or Gram, wishes she had fifteen years worth of memories. "You know who I am?"

"It took me a minute, but you laugh like him." She scrunches her nose, the glass spinning around her hand because she fusses with things when she's nervous, needs to feel like she's in control of _something_. "Or I guess he laughs like you. Plus, I knew you looked familiar. You came to the Hamptons one summer when I was like five. You helped me make the best sandcastle, even better than Dad's." The wall is cold against her back and she can feel the alcohol start to settle, the slight tilt in her stance. "We make up stories about you sometimes. Dad and me. Where you are, what you're doing, what bad guys you're fighting. Kinda sucks that we never know."

"I'm sorry about that," and the way he says it, he does sound regretful, like he too wishes he had always been there. He leans next to her and she should probably offer him a chair or something but he seems comfortable like this, as if he's lived his whole life standing in the thick of things: watching and waiting and pouncing when the moment is right. "What's your favorite story about me?"

"There are a few good ones. The best one we have right now is that you somehow found a time machine and you went back to stop Lincoln's assassination. You stake out Ford's Theatre and just as Booth lifts the gun, you knock it out of his hand. The whole world changes after that. It's pretty cool."

"Why Lincoln and not Kennedy?"

"Stephen King wrote a book about Kennedy's assassination. Dad doesn't mess with The King. Plus, Gram really liked the idea of you saving the world in a theatre." It's really not her place, but she can feel the words on the tip of her tongue, the courage from the alcohol, the loss of one of her favorite people reminding her that everyone leaves eventually. "You were the love of her life, you know. I mean, she never said that directly, but you could tell whenever we talked about you. Alexis says she changed a little after that summer when you came to see us. Like she was still her, but there was something more settled within her. She just – she would have been really happy that you came here."

He's quiet for a moment, but then she hears it, soft and lonesome. "Martha was the love of mine, too."

Ava bites down on her lip, because it's suddenly too much. She scans the room for her parents but they're not where they were before and in the sea of people she can't find Alexis and she wishes Gram were here and she really, really, _really_ did not want to cry here today. He puts his arm around her shoulders, a little awkward, a little unsure, but she rests her head against him. Years down the line, she'll remember how he had smelled in that moment; not a specific scent, but something classic and comforting. The smell of the grandfather she hadn't known her entire life except for those forty-eight hours on a beach in the Hamptons.

"Do you still – is that still your job? Because you seem a little-"

"Old?"

It makes her laugh. She swipes the tears from her eyes and nods, feels the way his pressed shirt wrinkles underneath her. "Yeah."

"It's not missions anymore, but I am still active."

"Oh."

He presses a kiss onto the top of her head and she barely knows him except she _does; _because he's a piece of her dad and owned so much of her grandmother's heart and because he taught Ava the intricacies of sandcastles which she's passed onto her niece and stupid spy stuff is the worst because she has one grandparent left and she wants, _needs_ two.

Ava backs out of his embrace and she doesn't understand how no one is watching this, asking who this mysterious stranger is. He's smiling down at her and she sees so much of her father, the warm compassion that has gotten her through so much. Her first breakup, all the times she had missed her sister when she was overseas and living a life of her own, the loss of her grandmother.

"I should go." He runs his hand over her hair and she should tell him _no,_ that he can't leave, not yet. She's persuasive and it's not often anyone denies her and she can convince him to stay. Except there are spies and missions and a story that seemed to be for books and not life so she nods because it's easier; it's not like she really knows him anyway. "You grew into a gorgeous young woman, Ava."

"Thank you." He gives her one last smile and starts to walk away when it hits her and she needs to know because it had been bothering her for weeks after it happened. "Hey." When he turns, she takes a step closer. "My dad's Ferrari. Um, I know this is weird, but did you; I mean you probably didn't-"

"Looks as good as new, doesn't it?" he says, with a wink. "You'd never know someone took it out for a joy ride."

And then he's gone and okay, the spy stuff is a _little_ cool because she had wondered how that had gotten fixed, agonized over it just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he did it and maybe she still did have two grandparents, two people to always have her back. She collapses onto one of the empty chairs, toeing off her heels and watches again. The music is loud but she can still hear snippets of stories about Martha, antidotes of an incredible life. She closes her eyes and leans her head back, takes in the room with sound and the smell of rich Italian dishes that Gram had always tried to cook but eventually ordered in.

"Hey, sweetheart. You okay?"

The warmth of her father's voice washes over her and she opens her eyes, pushes out the empty chair beside her so he can sit. He looks exhausted, but he's smiling and it's genuine and she's grateful for that. Her chair tilts as she leans into him, his arms coming around her as she nods her answer. She wants to ask him if he saw his dad, but if Secret Agent Grandpa snuck out of there without a word, it'll cause more pain and he's had enough of that this week and -

"Lincoln, huh? That's your favorite story? I always thought it was the one where he went back to fight the dinosaurs."

"The dinosaurs aren't realistic."

"But going back to save Lincoln is?"

Ava laughs. "No, but at least it's not a trillion years ago." She rights her chair, leaning her elbows onto the table. "You saw him?"

He nods, and he's smiling, relieved almost. "He said we need new stories for the next time."

"We can do that. We can always make his next mission a trip to the moon."

"I'm sure he'd like that."

He grabs two flutes from a passing waiter and hands one to her. This could be a trick but then again it is Richard Castle and she has heard stories from Alexis, but if it_ is_ a test, she needs to be prepared. Always be prepared.

"You know I already had one, right? Mom's gonna kill you for liquoring me up."

He lifts an eyebrow and _why_ does he look exactly like her mother when he does that? Of course she taught that to him and it's really annoying because it just seems so – well, like she's in trouble. "No, Mom's gonna kill _you_ if the vodka in the freezer keeps disappearing. AJ-"

"Only in the house and never excessive," she cuts in. "I promise. And as Gram always said, anything I've done, you've done a million times worse. Then again, so has Mom." He opens his mouth but there is no rebuttal. She's heard some stories. Both her parents were terrors in their teens. She's golden by comparison. Sometimes.

The song changes; Sinatra's _The Way You Look Tonight _starts to play over the speakers and her father rests his hand on hers. "Dance with me."

She rolls her eyes; despite the lessons she had taken as a kid, he's the one who taught her ballroom dancing on a weekend when her mother was at work and she was grounded. Nothing but her, her dad and her grandmother with this song playing on a constant loop. "Mom turn you down?"

He gasps in mock indignation. "Can't I just ask my beautiful daughter to dance?" She lifts an eyebrow (so maybe it's a family trait) and he laughs. "Yeah, she turned me down."

"I guess I can do that for you. But first- " She raises her glass. "To Gram. Wherever she is, let's hope there's a whole lot of wine."

The lines around his eyes strengthen: laughter and happiness and growing up with a woman who was dramatic and incredible and a best friend. The flutes clink.

"To Gram."

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

_I had never planned on writing Ava as anything past ten or eleven, but then this came to me as I was walking and I couldn't resist. The ages in the chapters always vary, but I do realize this jump was rather big. However, I do think I need a little Beckett and a 15 year old daughter down the line. I know it's a little different, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Also, as for Castle's Ferrari, in my head it was a newer one, not a twenty year old car. _

_Thoughts and comments – as always – are appreciated. Thanks!_


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: 18 years of Ava's life, 100 words a year.

* * *

Chapter 6: Snapshots

0-11 months:

The breeze comes off the ocean, the night chilled.

Their daughter is tucked inside Castle's zipped sweatshirt, head resting on his shoulder as they walk. She fists the hood occasionally before dozing, tiny puffs escaping her parted lips.

Kate can't keep her eyes off them. Ava looks just like her when she was a baby, but she's all Castle. The way she eases into life; the dramatics when she wants something. She gets _excited_ like him, will be as mischievous.

She's memorized everything about her child until she's surprised by something else, until she falls in love all over again.

* * *

Age 1:

"Can you say probable cause, AJ," Castle coos, as Ava bounces on his stomach.

Kate doesn't even look up from the paper. "It's not gonna work."

"Beckett, I am teaching your daughter cop words. How do you not approve of this?"

She doesn't have the chance to answer before Ava shakes her head. "No."

"Told you."

"What about onomatopoeia? Do you like Daddy's job more?"

Ava squeals. "Ahpeea."

"Close enough. You wanna be a writer? Stay home and do nothing while Mommy does all the hard work?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "I have such sympathy for Alexis' childhood right now."

* * *

Age 2:

It's Castle who notices it first.

He looks up from his laptop to find Ava running across the room, perched on her tiptoes. It's not the first time, he realizes.

Or the second or even the third.

He smiles, tapping on Kate's foot that is perched in his lap. She looks up just in time to see Ava run across again, giggling. It's light and free and pure: the innocence of childhood.

"Why is she walking like that?"

"Your shoes," Castle points out. "She's anticipating the heel."

He's not sure he's ever seen Kate look so proud. "That's my girl."

* * *

Age 3:

The snow is deep, an endless amount of white falling from the sky.

Ava's bundled in his arms, staring up at the sky in amazement. She holds her tongue out, fresh flakes melting onto the tip.

She giggles when he lays them down; she sinks against the snow.

"AJ, look." He moves his arms and legs, his youngest watching joyfully. "It's a snow angel."

"Angel," she breathes, following his movements. "Angel, angel."

Castle stops moving and watches her. It makes him miss Alexis, makes him wish Kate was here.

"Daddy, more!"

It's an hour before they leave, chilled and happy.

* * *

Age 4:

"Stop milk! Stay."

Early morning sunlight streams through the windows as Kate opens an eye. There's a large bowl in Ava's tiny hands, cereal sloshing over the sides. Her tongue peeks out of her mouth in concentration, making sure not to spill.

The kitchen must be a mess. Milk on the counter, Special K and Frosted Flakes crushed onto the ground.

Kate doesn't care.

"Mommy," she whispers, "made breakfast!"

"You did? Thank you, baby." She takes the bowl, settling Ava in her lap. "Wake up Dad and tell him."

The cereal nearly topples over when Ava startles Castle into consciousness.

* * *

Age 5:

On stage, her daughter dances with grace and ease.

Kate leans over, lips to Castle's ear. "Twenty bucks says that by this time next year she's no longer dancing."

He slides a hand over her thigh and grins at her. "No way. Look at her. She's a pro."

He never does see the parts of Ava that are purely him. "She's also a Castle. She can't hide the boredom on her face. I'm telling you this time next year, she'll be done."

"It's the song. It's boring."

It takes less than a hundred days for Kate to win this bet.

* * *

Age 6:

There's a picture on Castle's desk from the premiere of _Frozen Heat. _A photographer he knows had sent it to him weeks after, the lights and red carpet not nearly as bright as the shine in Ava's eyes.

It's a night he remembers daily.

The hand on her hip that Ava emulated from Natalie Rhodes. The squeeze of her hand in his. They had walked into the Dolby Theatre and for once she was quiet, taking everything in.

It was only when they sat that she spoke, tugging on his sleeve. "Daddy. I wanna be you when I grow up."

* * *

Age 7:

"Where's Dad?" Ava asks, walking out of school.

"Writing." Kate takes her backpack, slings it over her shoulder. "So, Ave, I hear you danced on your desk today."

The thing about Ava is that even when she knows she's done wrong, she fights as if she's always been right. "But Mom, it was an awesome song and Mrs. Ford walked out of the room so like don't leave kids alone."

She almost laughs; Ava sounds like a Beckett lawyer.

"Not the point. Don't dance on tables. You'll give Dad a heart attack."

"It's _Dad_. That's why I'm crazy!"

Verdict: Ava.

* * *

Age 8:

"He needs a name." The puppy licks Ava's face and she giggles. He's _so_ cute. "What about Wolfie? Cause he looks like a wolf."

Dad gasps. "Where's the originality, AJ?"

"It's her dog, Castle. She can name him whatever she wants."

"No, Dad's right. Um, well, who am I named after?"

This look crosses Mom's face like she's remembering. "One of Grandma's favorite actresses and Gram named Dad after a Broadway composer."

She has it. Not original, but she likes it. "Charlie. Cause I love Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

The dog barks, jumps into her lap.

Charlie, it is.

* * *

Age 9:

Boys are stupid. So, so stupid.

There's a knock on her door, but her mother is already walking in. She sits on her bed, clears the hair from her face.

"What happened at school?"

"Kevin gave me a giant heart for Valentine's Day and everyone laughed."

Her mom is pulling her out of bed, down the long, winding staircase and into their bedroom. There's a giant teddy bear on the chair holding a heart.

"Dad got this for me. Boys never stop being embarrassing, baby. You just learn to live with it."

"What if I don't want to?"

"You will."

* * *

Age 10:

The first year Ava goes to sleepaway camp, he panics.

He spends the first two weeks obsessively checking his phone and email. He leaves for a tour during week three, sending postcards from the states he's visited, and hates his job when he's stuck in Seattle on visiting day due a storm.

Ava, of course, doesn't care. She's too immersed in boys and go-karts and fashion and it both warms him and saddens him that his baby is getting older.

He goes away with Kate, writes four chapters, counts down the days.

She's taller when she returns.

The panic continues.

* * *

Age 11:

Kate brushes the polish over Ava's toes, magenta filling the nail. The summer heat washes over them, the waves crashing and it's the closest thing to perfect she's ever known.

"It doesn't have to be for a long time," Ava reasons. "Around the block. Mom, come _on._"

"You're not getting on my Harley, Ave. Stop asking."

"It's not like I'm asking to _drive_."

The daughter of Kate Beckett and Richard Castle – even at eleven- is daring and opinioned and so much _them_ that Kate can't help but laugh.

"We'll discuss when you turn twenty-one."

"I'm so not waiting that long."

* * *

Age 12:

Her first kiss tastes like the salt in the air, the sweat of summer, and the wintergreen gum that Connor always chews.

There's too much tongue and her hands fumble; he laughs when they break apart, his breath hitting the corner of her mouth and she can smell her own gum, spicy and hot. He slides a hand through her tangled hair and then she giggles, sounds mixing with the roar of the ocean.

This is Connor and it's _weird_ but then his mouth is on hers again and it's better, smoother.

She thinks she's gonna like this kissing thing.

* * *

Age 13:

"That's so unfair! You promised I could go to Ella's with Addison and just because Dad is getting some stupid award he's won like a _thousand_ times for his stupid books-"

"Enough!" Kate yells; she suddenly wishes she could call her mother, apologize for the brat she was. "You're not going to Ella's. You either go with us or I'll call Grandpa and have him stay with you."

"I'm not a baby."

"Then stop acting like one. Awards or home. You're not going out."

"I hate you!" Ava screams, slamming the door shut.

Motherhood.

Not for the faint of heart.

* * *

Age 14:

The books surround her; all twelve of them, a silhouette of a woman who looks so much like her mother.

It's almost seven. She's been up all night, pouring over her father's words, and it's the first time Ava really sees her in a different light; in awe of her instead of constant annoyance.

She's on book five when her mom clears her throat, eyebrow raised because she _knows_ Ava hasn't slept.

"I didn't..." Ava pauses. "I'm sorry I called these stupid."

There are laugh lines around her eyes when she smiles. She reads the dedication on one. "You're forgiven."

* * *

Age 15:

She wakes to Ava tracing patterns on her arm; serious, lost, so unlike herself.

And then Kate understands, feels the pounding in her heart. She of all people knows the look of loss.

"Claire?"

Ava chokes out a sob for the passing of her second mother. "Addie called." She curls into Kate like she's a child. "What was it like? Losing your mom at nineteen?"

It's like regret and an ache that never fully heals. It's a lifetime of knowing your world will never be the same.

She kisses her daughter, holds on tightly.

For this, she has no answers.

* * *

Age 16:

The first time he reads his daughter's words in novel form, he's stunned into silence.

She's _good._ He should have known; she'd spent her entire childhood making up tales, created short stories when she was bored.

But this is different.

This is real, heartbreaking, and he looks up to see the shine in her eyes, the way her teeth bite her lip in nervousness.

"I know I'm not as good as you-" she starts.

He cuts her off with a kiss to her forehead.

"No," he admits and he can't wait to tell his wife. "You might actually be better."

* * *

Age 17:

The lights from the Eiffel Tower shine over the Seine as they walk, night falling down around them.

"Why'd you finally say yes? You and Dad never agree to Fashion Week."

Kate wraps her arm around Ava's waist, pulling her close. "You deserve it. You're getting a book published at seventeen-"

"Because of Dad."

"Because _together_ you wrote something incredible. We're so proud of you, Ave."

"Proud enough to use Dad's Amex to buy me pretty things?"

She starts to shake her head.

Although.

"I think we can afford a couple pairs of congratulatory shoes."

Ava grins. "If we must."

* * *

Age 18:

Her novel is a failure.

Months after release, it's nowhere close to the bestseller list, even with Richard Castle's name on it as co-author. Ava wallows, swears she's never going to write again. She spends time locked in her room to avoid her parents, ignores calls from her sister, watches a marathon of trashy TV to forget.

Her phone rings after midnight.

"Please tell me you just saw Mekenna Finley's interview on Seacrest," Addison screeches.

"Wow, you sound excited. Did_-"_

"She talked about your book! She read it after her dad died. Babe, I think you're about to become famous."

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who gave me a memory and helped with the years. _

_Comments and thoughts are always appreciated. _


	7. Chapter 7

Her first book remains on her father's shelves, the spine cracked and well-worn. She's had at least ten since then - some best sellers, some not - but it's the only one of hers with his name on it as well. A little larger in font, a little more distinguished; her training wheels into the literary world.

Ava slides it from its spot, the weight heavy in her hands. The memories barrel back to her, the look of pride and awe on his face when he had first read what she had the power to do, the way she had believed him when he said it was better than all he had done in his career thus far. She had pitched fits once the writing process became real, snapped at him more times than she should have, fallen in love with the late nights and lack of plans, with the words on the page – both his and hers, a combination that somehow fit. She fought with him more in that period of time than she ever had in her life, all the while cementing a bond that made book parties and cross country tours some of the best times in her life.

She sits down on the office couch – the leather faded into a lighter shade of black- turning the book over in her hands. The seventeen year old she once was smiles back at her, but it's her father beside her in the photo that she's drawn to. The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, history in the shadows deep within the blue of his eyes. Her heart clenches and she misses him already, misses the comfort he gave her just by being _him_.

She opens the book to read the acknowledgements or the last page, anything really, when she sees it. The envelope is old, edges yellowed with age and her name is scrawled across the front in handwriting that she knows she'll never forget. She blinks like it's nothing more than an illusion but it's still there, the same penmanship that had signed thousands of books, the one she's looked for in stores since she was a child. She takes a breath and slides her finger underneath the flap, pages unfolding. The date on the top has faded, but she knows what it is the second she sees it, can't believe he's held onto this for almost twenty years.

To my beautiful Ava,

It's in times like these that I wish my words had the ability to take away the pain you're feeling, to save you from all hurt in the world. I wish I was able to give you the happy ending that my novels tend to have or shield you from the worst things in life simply because I'm your father. I wish a lot of things, but mostly I wish that at fifteen you weren't mourning the loss of a woman who was like a mother to you; a woman who loved you as much as she loved her own child.

Before we had you, your mom and I didn't go out with other couples. I teased her that she was a hermit who was set in her ways, but the truth is we worked long hours and when there wasn't a case to solve we were usually home, spending time with Gram or Alexis or each other. Then we had you and two years later, you met Addison. I can still remember the look on Mom's face when the day care called to tell us that you and another girl had been terrorizing all the little boys. It sounded about right. You were destined to break hearts even then but we rushed down there not knowing what to expect. We found you and this pint sized pixie sitting there, looking like perfect angels and Mom started to laugh. She said this was my fault in that way she does. You know the look. Amused, eye rolling, somehow serious and yet not at all.

And beside her, another woman was telling her husband the same thing. From that moment on Claire and Steven became our closest friends and Addie became yours.

It was Claire who came to visiting day at camp with Mom the summer I was stuck in Seattle. It was Claire who picked you up from school when you were sick and I was on tour and Mom was working. She took you dress shopping with Addie and taught you how to make brownies so you could surprise us for our anniversary one year. Your mother likes to joke that Claire's my second (okay, fourth) wife and your surrogate mother. The truth is she's not wrong. Claire is someone special to all of us and losing her is like losing a piece of ourselves.

Coming home earlier and seeing you curled up in your mother's arms, looking so much like the little girl you were not too long ago, made me wish that I could save you both in ways I've never quite been able to. I didn't know Mom when Grandma died, but I know what it did to her. She let it take over her life in ways I think she regrets even to this day. From the moment she told me the truth of her past, all I wanted was to rescue her. I pushed too hard thinking that was what she needed and pissed her off more than I'd like to admit. It took me years to understand that being there by her side was enough. Listening to her memories when she wanted to share, helping her in her quest to find peace. Mom taught me patience. She taught me that sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is love them and hope that in the end, it's enough. My only hope is that you don't let this change you in all the ways it changed her. That you open up to us or find a way to cope instead of hiding behind pain or being too afraid to admit you're scared. The situation's not quite the same, after all you still have both of us, but I also know loss is loss. I know that on the heels of Gram dying, this is more than any fifteen year old should have to handle.

You're at an age where everything is changing. You're growing up and realizing that life never goes the way you think it will. You lose people and you gain people. You have your heart broken and think it'll never heal only to realize that one day it has. It's still cracked, still missing pieces that once fit so perfectly, but it doesn't hurt as much to breathe. There's _room_ to breathe when you never thought there would be again. You find things to hold onto. You fall in love with people and places and things. As Mom would say, you somehow discover that even on the worst days there's a possibility for joy. You have her courage and strength, AJ, and every day I am so thankful that you're a blend of us both, all the while being your own person with defiant opinions and an imagination I am often in awe of. You and your sister have not only taught me how to parent – both of you in your own specific ways – but you've taught me the meaning of inexplicable love.

No matter what, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You're a pain who drives us crazy sometimes, but then there's also the version of you who comes home and spends hours with us watching movies on the couch, the one who has a sense of humor that is so wry and sarcastic and witty that it makes us love you all the more. There's the girl who befriended someone who wasn't popular because you liked her and didn't care what anyone else thought. You're confident without being vain. Don't ever lose that. Shelter it. Never forget who you are but don't always compete to be better. It's good to win, but it's humble to lose every once in a while as well.

You'll make mistakes and we'll love you regardless. Forgive yourself for those. We all make them and what seems like a mistake at the time could end up being something that changes the course of your life for the better. Let yourself be an idiot. The most fun I've ever had was when I was playing laser tag with Alexis or going to water parks with you or showing off to impress Mom. Life throws enough at us that being a child every once in a while even as an adult is worth it. Find something you're passionate about. It should be your career but it doesn't have to be. It can be anything as long as you throw yourself into something with reckless abandon. Mistakes can be undone, but not trying can't. Try everything at least once. Scratch that. Try everything that's _legal_ at least once. Take chances. Be good to those around you but stand up for yourself if you need to.

Live your life in the way only you can so you never have regrets.

Know that if you ever need us, we're here.

And always remember how much Mom and I love you.

-Dad

The air is caught in her throat when she finishes, tears blurring her vision. She leans her head back against the couch and closes her eyes, can almost hear her father's voice in the room, reading to her in that voice of his; the one that had read to her on nights when she couldn't sleep, who told her a million and one stories of his life and her mother's life and their life together. He had left her alone back when it came to Claire's death, had pushed her to spend time with her mother – the one person who understood more than anyone what it was like to lose someone so young – but she had craved his wisdom, needed the comfort he so often offered her. Instead, he had written with her and it had become enough, more than really.

But this – this was everything she's yearned to hear, especially today.

"Hey."

She startles, opening her eyes. Her mother walks into the room, two glasses of wine in her hand. The heels and black dress had been discarded the moment they returned home and she's back in yoga pants, hair pulled up, looking younger than her age and yet somehow older, wiser.

"Hey," Ava says, clearing her throat, and then she's moving closer, resting her head on the shoulder that had let her cry over boys and friends and at times just _life._ The wine has been placed on the end table, forgotten for the moment, Mom's fingers sliding through her hair. It doesn't matter how old she gets, she still seeks comfort in the woman beside her. "You doing okay, Mamasita?"

Mom smiles at the nickname – one Ava had given her nearly fifteen years ago – and kisses her forehead. "Fine," she murmurs. "Where's Connor?"

"I told him to go out for a drink with Scott. Alexis took the kids home and I just needed..." She pauses, before holding out the letter. "Did you know Dad wrote this?"

There's a look of recognition on her face when she takes it, this gaze that filters through her at the sight of Richard Castle's words. Like she's discovered her lifeline all over again.

"He showed it to me after he did it. I told him not to give it to you."

Ava lifts her head and sits back on the couch, crossing her feet underneath her. She reaches for the wine glass and takes a sip, lets it coat her lips and tongue. "Why?"

"You and I both know you wouldn't have been receptive to a letter like that when you were fifteen." Her mother smiles again, her hand – part calloused, part smooth - against Ava's cheek. "You were a teenager, Ave. You went out and got drunk-"

The laugh tumbles from her lips and she covers her mouth with her hand, attempting to stifle her amusement. Mom glares at her, but there's no trace of anger, instead that look her father had written about. Amused, eye rolling, somehow serious and yet not at all.

"I forgot about that night. I remember rushing through the elevator doors and trying to make it to the bathroom and all I could think about was that I had stolen your new boots earlier that day and if I puked on them you were going to murder me and most likely get away with it."

"You were also wearing my jeans that were far too tight on you."

"We wear the same size, Mom. If they were too tight on me, they were too tight on you."

"You were barely sixteen at the time, Ave. Your dad saw you in those and almost had a heart attack. You were without a doubt a handful."

She smiles slyly, shrugging a shoulder as she brings the wine glass to her lips. "Keeping you both on your toes. I assume I'm the reason you never had another kid? Couldn't handle more than one of me?" Something crosses Mom's face, sadness or longing and her grip tightens around the base of the glass. It's not regret that's there, it's – loss. "Mom?"

"You weren't the reason we didn't have another child."

"I didn't actually think I was. There is a reason though."

"Ava-"

"Mom," she cuts off, placing a hand on her mother's knee. "This is me. Come on. What don't I know?"

The crimson of the wine touches Mom's lips, a pause before the storm. "We went back and forth on having another child after you were born. Dad wanted one. You girls were the loves of his life; he would have done anything for you and Alexis. I was – I was torn. There were so many moments of your childhood that I missed because I was working but I did everything I could to get home to you before bed. You were amazing, Ave. You were happy and playful and you made the worst days brighter. I had such little time with you to begin with and I didn't want to have to share you. But the more I was with you the more I wanted another kid. I wanted to see you be a big sister to someone. I wanted someone with your father's eyes. I loved you so much that I felt I was ready to love someone else just as much. When you were two, I got pregnant. I had a miscarriage five weeks later."

Her heart stops for the smallest of moments and she squeezes Mom's kneecap, anchors herself to her. "You didn't try again?"

"It caused a lot of tension between Dad and me for reasons that seem so unimportant now. We fought constantly." She rubs her finger over the rim, a slight whistle humming throughout the room. "There were times that I wasn't sure our marriage would last."

"So what changed?" Ava asks quietly.

"We met Claire and Steven. All that stuff Dad put in your letter about forgiving yourself for mistakes? About not having regrets? That was Claire's advice. She was our savior during that period of time. She made sense of things that neither Dad nor I could. We were both too stubborn, too set in our ways and Claire gave us the outside perspective we needed. It took a long time but we figured it out. In the end it made our relationship stronger than it was before. Plus, we did get another child. We had Addie."

"My twin terror."

"Your dad's favorite nickname for you two."

She thinks of the letter again, of words that have different meaning now that she knows pieces of her parents' lives that she never had before. Even all these years later, she can somehow picture Claire giving that advice, fixing things that were wounded. Skinned knees and fights between her and Addison, apparently marriages as well.

She holds up the pieces of paper, feels the crinkled pages between her fingers. "You really believe I wouldn't have accepted this then?"

"You're my daughter," Mom answers simply. "You needed time. It killed him that he couldn't help you but I knew. I knew what you needed in ways I'm not sure he could, even after he lost Gram. You had to process and work through it before you'd let anyone else in. Do you remember what you asked me the morning we found out?"

Those days are still a blur to her; some memories as sharp as a knife, some so hazy that they still feel like nothing but a dream.

"No. What?"

"You asked me what it was like to lose my mom at nineteen. You were talking about it. Maybe not in the way Dad wanted – he was all about trying to get us to tell him everything – but it was enough for me. I knew then that you would be okay. Two months after that you wrote your first chapter."

It wasn't what she expected that night; the touch of the keys beneath her fingertips, the way the words poured onto the screen and her brain shut off until it was nothing but emotion and fire and loss so deep within her soul. She had felt Claire in every paragraph, had written until the sun rose and her alarm had blared. It was her father who walked into her room the next morning instead of her mother, the extra wakeup call she so constantly needed.

And without saying a thing he had turned off the offensive beeping, kissed the top of her head, and called in sick for her as if he knew it was her healing.

"I want you to know, Ave, that writing with you was the highlight of your father's career. He didn't care about how many books he had on the bestseller list or about the recognition. Dad was - There were parts of him that he didn't let people see often. For as confident as he appeared, for as ridiculous and egotistical as he sometimes was, he worried what people thought about him. There were times he thought he was a fraud and he was always trying to prove himself. The first night he showed me your pages, he was so proud. You made him believe he had done something right."

Ava bites down on her lip, the squeeze of her heart making her chest ache. There's so much information she's processing today, so much loss and love ciphering through her veins. She thinks of the man her father was; humor laced in so much of what he did, serious for a time but knowing how to break the ice when it mattered. She lifts an eyebrow, the grip around the glass loosening. "I'm pretty sure your first declaration of love to Dad proved he had done something right. You gave him exactly what he wanted."

Mom narrows her eyes. "What? Me?"

"You gave him drama. Soaked hair, cheesy movie lines, a storm raging outside. Quite the cliché when you want to be, Mamasita."

"What other exaggerated tales did he tell you while you were on tour together? No wait, let me guess. He couldn't help but mention the time that he heroically rescued me from the death grip of a tiger while we were handcuffed, how it almost took his life but it was worth it because he saved me."

"He did it for love."

"He lied," Mom responds on a laugh. "He threw food at the tiger and then was convinced we were going to get eaten. Every story Dad has ever told you is probably only partially true."

Ava glances around the room, at a life so carefully built. The books and pictures, the knickknacks bought on tours. "I knew. We would be out for breakfast in Dallas or having a drink in London and he got so excited when he talked about his life with you. Of course I knew you weren't in a tiger's death grip or abducted by aliens. I knew Dad's ex wasn't a CIA operative who tried to kill you-"

"That one was true."

"Seriously?"

"What can I say? Your dad and I definitely had our adventures."

The pang of loss hits her so fiercely in the gut, unexpected in this moment of laughter. The leather is hot beneath her when she shifts and Mom grabs her hand, pulling her closer. Her chest pounds, threatens to crack and spill, leave its mark on the room. "It doesn't matter what age you are when it happens, does it? It never gets easier."

"It won't always hurt to breathe," and it's her father's line, maybe Claire's as well. "When you were younger, you used to tell me what you thought heaven was like. We'd go visit Grandma's grave and you knew all the right things to say to make me feel better. Even if it wasn't something I necessarily believed in, you gave me hope." She presses her lips to the side of Ava's head, holds her close against her. Her voice is nothing but a whisper now; soothing and imaginative and a life saver. "There's a party for Dad the moment he gets up there. Book party, birthday party, something where he's the center of attention. He's young, maybe around the time I first met him-"

"He wasn't that young," Ava murmurs.

"He was young enough." Without looking Ava knows there's a smile there, a million flashes that are going through Mom's mind. "He walks around and even there, there are a million stories in his head, a million things that he wants to jot down and write. And then he spots Claire and Gram. Sitting and talking over wine, laughing, and Claire turns to him and says _Come on, Number One. You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna join us for a drink?_"

And just like that, Ava settles.

She breathes.

* * *

_Comments and thoughts are always appreciated._

_ Thanks for reading._


End file.
